Saying Sorry
by Sarshi
Summary: Hermione makes a big mistake and ends up as Snape's slave for an entire week to make up for it. And when Voldemort decides to resurrect Salazar Slytherin, gets murdered in the process and then impersonated by Harry Potter... well... things go mad. HG/SS.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe owned by others.

Chapter 1

Hermione opened her eyes. She couldn't remember exactly where she was, but she did remember how to gasp and did so instinctively.

"I see you are up, Miss Granger."

Severus Snape was hovering over her, his expression schooled into a glare. She wondered if he was the reason she had woken up or whether he'd simply been waiting for her to do so. Then she realized she had no idea whether she was dressed or naked and didn't dare look down and lift the blanket to check. She _thought_ she was dressed. Um. She wasn't really too sure. And if she was, how dressed _was_ she? And where was she? And what was Snape doing where she was?

"Um," she said.

"You made a grave mistake," he said silkily.

Did she? Um.

"Or rather, several of them."

Oh, God, she didn't get drunk and attempted to sleep with him, did she?... DID she?... She might've. She couldn't really remember, just a bit more drink than usual and then leaving to... um...

"Going off to fight against Lucius Malfoy on your own was one."

Right. She remembered that. Vaguely. Very vaguely. She was so _pissed_ at him, for his new attempt to hurt _Ginny_... She'd barely escaped and the Ministry hadn't done much to fight against the damned Death Eaters who had so nearly caught her in that alley and against Lucius Bloody Malfoy. He'd escaped from jail and they'd done _nothing._ He'd conducted an assault on Diagon Alley and they'd done nothing again. There was a pattern to that and she hated seeing it.

"I assure you, no sixth year brat can handle a Death Eater of his experience."

Neither could the Ministry. But she was smart. She was strong. And she had been quite drunk.

"I think you're rather lucky to have been hit by a car."

Car? What car?... Ooooh, right, _that_ car. She hadn't known that wizards used cars, but there had been one in Hogsmeade. Probably just a single one. The one that had hit her. What an embarrassing way to end up in the hospital. But then, how did he know of her plans?... She opened her mouth to ask and closed it back again.

"That, I think, was your second mistake. Your third one was to give my name as the person of contact at St. Mungo's. You could've chosen Weasley or Potter or whomever stroke your fancy. But you chose _me_. And now, the entire school knows."

"Wha-?!"

"Rumors travel at light speed in such situations, Miss Granger. You were injured. You were given the chance to ask for the person closest to you and you asked for me. It is clear to everybody that we are involved."

"Um."

"I am sure you _must_ understand what I mean by 'involved'."

"Um."

"I mean that they all thing I've been thoroughly ravishing you in all positions and there are rumors about how I was supposedly caught by the Creevey brothers while penetrating you against a wall in a hidden and dark corner or the school one night and bribed them afterwards to keep their mouths shut and their pictures of the events away. They deny it, of course. Rumors say that it is because I also threatened to use them as targets for my Defense Against the Dark Arts class if they spilled anything. Also, that I used to, as a matter of fact, fuck you on the teacher's desk after each class with you."

"Gack!"

"That isn't much of a coherent or even articulated answer, Miss Granger and I assure you that your blush and tremble will not aid the situation at the moment. I am not impressed with them. And I wouldn't be much impressed with your attempts to plea me to take pity on you and understand that it was all a mistake and you are very sorry."

"Mmmbf."

"I _do_ believe you were more coherent and articulate in class, weren't you?"

She paused to gather herself together. She hadn't known he had a vocabulary. She hadn't known she'd been causing him trouble. She hadn't even known that she'd given _his_ name, dammit. But why had she done it?... True, she had a sliiiight crush on him. But that was all. She tried to remember her reasonings of the previous night and she realized it was a lost cause. She could barely remember the car accident.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" she asked, _very_ quietly. He probably had very good hearing, because he didn't ask her to repeat.

"Of course," he snarled. "Do you think I was about to leave you off with just a warning?"

Guess not.

"I thought I should offer."

"It doesn't change anything. I had a proposal of how you should make it up to me anyway. The fact that you offered simply means that I don't have to break your bones to make you see things my way."

Her face darkened. She couldn't tell him he was presuming too much, now could she?... _she_ was presuming too much. She glared a bit, just to prove her point. He didn't even notice.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. Not that she really needed to. He would've told her anyway. Still, she liked to keep the impression (although she wasn't fooled by it and he didn't even know that he was supposed to be fooled) that she had some sort of choice in the matter.

"You'll be my slave. For a week."

"What!"

"You got me into this mess. I might as well make the most out of it. If they say we are lovers and that the so-called secret is "out", then we might as well play the part."

"Wha..."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with me. I wouldn't be asking if I wanted you to. I am demanding that you serve me 24 hours a day, for 7 days in any way that I demand of you. Most of that will consist of cleaning up and taking care of my apartments. And learning how to be meek and mild and polite and never impose your stupidity on others. At the end, you will get precisely what I am getting at the moment: the entire school will despise you for an illicit affair. I don't care how _you_ face them. However, I find it... kinder... to announce you that I for myself will say that the affair existed, that it is _legal_, since there is nothing to stop a student/teacher affair and you are already 17. That's the age of consent and you are older than the typical 6th year student. If you wish to deny, you may. But you will not be believed."

"Um."

"I allow you to say whatever you may want about our relationship and my bed manners."

"But..."

"Enough of that. Get dressed and come."

He left the room. Hermione stared after him and then, finally, took a look around. Rock walls. Hogwarts?... Double bed. Snape's?... Probably. Big bookshelf. Tempting. An opened door to a big bathroom. Some of her clothes, on a chair. Blue sheets. Nice. No windows. Probably the professor's rooms at Hogwarts. She chanced a look under a blanket and groaned. She was dressed only in her knickers.

She got up and dressed quickly, then followed him out the door.

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AN: Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe owned by others.

AN: Thanks to all those who reviewed. You really made my day (and you also really made me type this quicker)

Chapter 2

At least she was dressed and vertical, instead of naked and horizontal. Standing made her feel different. Less helpless. More in control. Perhaps she could fight him. Tell him his idea about her being his slave was simply preposterous. Well. Not really. She _couldn't_. She felt guilty. You couldn't blackmail a Slyhtering through that particular feeling, but Gryffindors were exceptionally susceptible to it. However, even if she _did_ manage to somehow turn Slythering in less than 5 minutes and face Snape with all her might and pride, she wasn't entirely sure that the threat to break her bones was an empty one. And even a Slytherin knew when to back out of a lost fight.

She didn't move her eyes to study the room. She noticed it was a sort of living room. Cozy. Hot – unexpected, what with all the stone everywhere and the green that made it _look_ cold. Two fluffy, worn out armchairs and a sofa. A tea table. No bookshelves. A book on the tea table. No windows. Some random objects and a grandfather clock. Funnily out of character for him to own one.

"Your duties are mainly concerned with maintaining the order of my chambers," Snape said. "I can allow the House Elves to clean it up for me, but they are rather stupid creatures and when things get somewhat more complicated than alphabetical ordering, they are absolutely useless."

"And that's where I step in," she interposed. However, from his displeased glare, she understood that her strange tendency to pretend she had a say in this was not appreciated. At all.

"Very well, Miss Granger. If you believe that you can handle what house elves can not, you will get straight to work. I want my books ordered in two categories, mainly fiction and non-fiction and then divided into subcategories by subject, then ordered alphabetically."

That shouldn't be so difficult. The shelves in his bedroom contained about two or three hundred volumes. Not _that_ many.

"I will lead you to my personal library presently."

Oh. Um. How big was _that_?...

"Then I want you to inventory all my potion ingredients. My papers got... misplaced by some elves... in the fireplace... and while they understood I was quite displeased, they were incapable of reconstructing them. They lack all basic culture and understanding potions ingredients is way beyond their understanding. I trust that it is not beyond yours."

"No, sir."

"You will not attempt class while you are here. You have been suspended for a week for alcohol consumption, attempt to leave the grounds without permission and, must I add it, sheer stupidity." Here he made a pause and allowed himself a small smirk. "The Headmaster believes that this will teach you better than getting drunk and conducting a silly and hopeless attempt against a Death Eater. The official charge for which you are suspended is sexual offense. According to the official story, we got caught by the Headmaster in full fuck upon the teacher's desk and he felt sexually offended. Then he suspended you and you came here to make a statement, mainly that you have a right to date whomever catches your fancy and so do I. Later, you will find that student/teacher relationships are permitted and there are precedents. We will also insist that the room was secured and the Headmaster barged in through the fireplace, ignoring my insistence that he should stop doing so."

"Sorry," Hermione said, finally gathering herself up. "What?"

"Surely you do not expect me to repeat all that."

"No, but... why?... Why all this? Why this story?"

He glared. He waited for a few seconds, obviously expecting her to get it. She didn't. She really, really didn't.

"For once," he finally said, "I see that you are firmly shut up. About time."

Yes, she knew it. She was a know-it-all who didn't know this one. He'd better stop rubbing it in and _tell her_ already.

"You were hit by a car in Hogsmeade, where you weren't supposed to be. You gave my name in St. Mungo's."

"Yea..."

"You are a model student. You do not skip. You do not break rules. You make no wrong moves."

"Umm..."

"Except when you are with the two brats, planning something. Then you do horrible stuff. But this time, you were alone. Give me a plausible reason why you were gone without your sidekicks knowing where or why."

"I was shopping."

"It was 2 am."

"I was drunk and thought I was going shopping."

"You were what?..."

"Drunk."

"No, Miss Granger. You _weren't_."

"Yes, I was! You said it yourself earlier... Or at least I think you did."

"How eloquent. Miss Granger, the truth is absolutely irrelevant at the moment. What you need to think of is the official truth. You cannot be drunk because of two very good reasons. The first is that you are the most responsible member of your trio and the school knows it. They have Harry Potter as a role model. They have you to understand what rules they can or cannot break. Whether you understand it or not, it is a grave responsibility for you. Your image must be perfect. There are too many here who look up to you. Getting drunk will shake their confidence in you or will make them follow your footsteps and become not only rule breakers, but also irresponsible twits."

"And shagging teachers doesn't do all that?... Oh. Sorry about the language."

"We are _lovers_, Miss Granger. You may use whatever language you want. But remember that I _demand_ to be respected."

She wondered about that rule. She had a feeling that he made rules up as he went along. She had a feeling that he'd keep doing that to _pretend_ at least that the only rules that _did_ apply were what he wanted and what he didn't want. Extended to what he liked and didn't like, what he minded and didn't mind and so on. In conclusion, he didn't mind language. Fascinating.

"Sleeping with me proves that love transcends boundaries, Miss Granger," he continued. "You are making a statement. Crumble and they will think you weak, a fool who slept with me for grades or pure sex drive or whatever. Hold your head high, throw lightning when needed and they will fall in awe."

"Then, _sir_, if we are to be lovers, I demand you call me Hermione."

She didn't know why she did that. She really didn't. Maybe because he pissed her off. Maybe because he presumed too much. Maybe because Miss Granger sounded like an insult. Hermione was closer. He couldn't sneer it the same way. Besides, you couldn't bark it. Too many vowels. It'd sound odd. She knew it because she'd used to play-pretend when she was young and would try to spit her name and never managed.

"Very well, Hermione."

She was right. He couldn't spit it out in the same way. He couldn't hiss it, either. He seemed slightly vexed at that. She felt a small victory, narrowed her eyes, looked at him a bit sideways and smirked just a tiny bit in undisguised pleasure. They didn't overdo their emotions. Just sent hints. She could play his game. No problem. She hoped.

He didn't offer her his own first name. She shrugged inwardly. She'd call him that. On hallways. If they were lovers... it'd be only normal. Aaah, toying with the devil.

"The second reason for going on with this charade is that it isn't wise for Death Eaters to know that you get drunk. That _any_ of you _ever_ get drunk."

Good point.

"And... what was I doing in Hogsmeade?"

"Storming off away from a lover's quarrel."

She tried to find a better way of saying "Did your genius and Dumbledore's genius combined manage to come up with that _marvelous _solution that is _so much better_ than being drunk?..." Hmmm... Um. It appeared she liked to say or think "um." New catchphrase. Yay! Well, she had to rephrase that. Um.

"I don't think that's a wise explanation."

"You thought I liked little children."

"I don't see why that's a problem."

"Do you want me to spell pedophilia for you?"

"Oh."

"A misunderstanding. You thought I was about to polyjuice you into a six year-old for sexual purposes."

"Oh!"

"It turned out to be nothing and the episode got us even closer than before."

"How did we come to _that_ misunderstanding?"

"A long story involving Death Eater meetings, what happens there, my own crushes and meeting Lily Evans when she was 10, then me offering you polyjuice, you understanding it was with her hair, from that age and so on."

"It sounds insane."

"It's possible and not at all probable. That's why it can appear to be truth."

"Are you sure that's how it works?"

"That's the way it usually does."

Hermione thought. She thought about being a witch born out of dentists. She thought about not believing in the tooth fairy as a child. She thought about Harry surviving the Killing Curse as a toddler. She thought about Molly Weasley having so many children. She thought about Voldemort chasing after Harry and never catching him. She thought about being there in the first place and being a slave to Snape for a week. She thought about "Doctorin' the Tardis" by the Timelords being a number one hit in Britain in '88, despite being mostly a collection of sounds from an (albeit very popular) TV show. She thought about aliens named Ford Prefect and Douglas Adams' trilogy in way too many parts called "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and nobody bothering to change the name from "trilogy" to "series". She thought about her passion for silly, illogical science fiction and fantasy books and shows.

All in all, she felt mildly impressed by the truth of his words and had to agree that it was insane enough to be true. She also had a strange urge to ask Snape whether he enjoyed Abba and Celine Dion.

"_They were shining there for you and me, for liberty, Fernando,"_ she sang softly. Snape stared at her as if she'd grown another head. "My heart will go on?"

An arched eyebrow and a look of bewilderment. Well. That'd probably the only time she caught him off guard.

"What?..."

"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't ask, sir," she said.

He opened his mouth, probably to chastise her for speaking up to him and singing romantic songs. Then he seemed to change his mind and draw a breath. Then he sighed and gave up altogether. Ah. True wisdom. She _had_ to give him more credit.

"So. Um. Where do I start?"

He led her to the library chamber. She felt a slightly bit disappointed. It was big, but not too big. Not huge. Well, at least there was less to arrange.

"One thousand three hundred and forty two books," he said. "Currently arranged alphabetically, thanks to the same meddlesome house elves who destroyed my list of potion ingredients."

Well. She could live with that. It probably wouldn't take a week. Could this assignment be... easy?...

"What do I do when I'm done?" she asked. "Can I go back to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Not until the week is over," he replied with a displeased glare.

"So... where do I sleep?"

"On the couch."

"Fair enough."

"How funny. I'd rather thought you'd want the bed, as a perfect, spoiled Gryffindor."

"It's common courtesy for a slave to not attempt to kick her master out of bed. And I don't feel like sleeping there with you in it."

There was a knock at the door. She jumped and looked around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from and wondering who could be knocking on what door in the _library_.

"Charms to carry the sound," he explained silkily, delighting in her confusion.

She followed him out of the room. A step behind, of course. Damned remorse. Well, she was finding her way around that one, wasn't she?... She was a powerful young woman. Who could handle this little game of his. She just needed some time in peace and quiet to think things through and decide what she'd be doing and how she'd extract revenge on Snape and Dumbledore for giving events _this_ particular turn. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. She felt pissed that they hadn't consulted her before finding this simply silly story, but it was her fault also. _Why_ had she given Snape's name at the hospital?... True, she'd been drunk, she had a small crush... But from there to recommending him as her closest person... Idiot. And she'd have some scandal. Well. _That_ was new (sarcasm, sarcasm). Snape. Huh. Well. That'd make all her romance life _very_ difficult from this moment on.

She felt proud with herself. She was taking this nicely. Calmly.

Snape opened the door that connected his apartment with the corridor. Neville stormed in. There went her calm. She stared, shocked, as he almost pushed against Snape, trying his best to ignore the man while shaking visibly. He was doing something incredibly brave in terms of facing his own fears. He had a slightly hero-like look. He was an idiot who wasn't supposed to be here. She felt impressed nonetheless.

"If there's anything wrong... If he's hurting you, 'Mione, we'll... I'll save you! By God, I will. You're my friend and you don't deserve to be locked up here... ah... uh... unless you want to..."

"I want to," she said, but smiled wildly at him. Her heart melted. "Thank you, though, Neville. Thank you."

She tried to put as much warmth in her voice as she possibly could. He smiled shyly at her, his eyes slid towards Snape, then snapped back towards her.

"You sure?"

"Very. Trust me."

"We'd like to thank you, Longbottom, for your wonderful display of the infamous Gryffindor camaraderie and bravery," Snape said silkily. Neville gulped. "However, it's time for you to go, as it is clear she's happy here."

"Just a minute, dear. How's the situation up there? Are we safe if we come out of here, or do rumours fly about like crazy wasps?"

"Crazy wasps. But you don't want to know this stuff..."

"Actually, I do. Tell me exactly how bad it is. I need to know. I want to know who my friends are and whom I've hurt and all that."

"Harry and Ron are uh..."

"Trying to break me out of here."

"Yes."

"It was to be expected. Tell them to stay put. I'll be back in a week or so. I'm waiting out the rumors here so they've had enough of them and won't harass me instantly. When they're better, I'll come explain and we'll talk. Tell everybody that."

"Yeah. So. The girls in our year are gossiping about how... uh... how you're the type of person to go out with a teacher. Nothing _too_ bad. The Slytherins are horrible. Ginny Weasley pasted a 7th year to the ceiling for calling you names."

"Good old Ginny."

"Yeah. Others... Dunno. Scandal. Nothing precise. School rules. All that."

"School rules do not forbid this. There's been past situations of this sort, also. Is that all?"

"Yeah..."

"Thank you so much, Neville. Now, I'm afraid Sev... Professor Snape will probably turn you into potion ingredients if he sees you for much longer, so..."

"I better leave."

"Yes. Brilliant seeing you, though."

Under a friendly impulse, she closed the space between them and hugged him tightly.

"Thanks for coming here. You don't need to save me. I'm happy here."

As Snape led him outside, she pondered her last words. And she decided that while she wasn't exactly _happy_, there was something in the situation that made her... content. Maybe it was that crush on Snape. Maybe it was bigger than she suspected. After all, she _had_ thought of him while in a drunken, injured state. So, what was she not-quite-happy-but-almost about?... A chance to be closer to him? Probably.

She needed to think. She needed to understand how she felt. She needed some time alone. It was Sunday. He'd have classes tomorrow and he'd go and face the seas of rumors. Well... She'd have time then. Or tonight, when she went to bed.

"Get to work."

He was back. Of course. And she was turning her back at him to go to the library.

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AN: Liked it? Hated it? Do tell!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: I'd like to thank my dear, dear reviewers who get me updating waaaay faster than I thought I would. You make my day.

2nd AN: We get introduced to the big plot this chapter, so I'd like you to know, that, despite what it may look like, I _didn't_ accidentally upload the wrong file and that's why the first part of the chapter seems to have nothing to do with Hermione and Snape.

Chapter 3

"Myrtle! Myyyyrtle! Moany Myrtle..."

The girl, because she was still a girl, no matter what state of life or death she was in, came out of her bathroom stall and sniffed. Nothing had changed about her for 50 years and nothing would ever change, unless she gathered the strength to leave her past behind and move on. Her body was translucent, her round glasses were still perched on top of her nose. She wasn't pretty, but she could've been, if she'd known how to take care of herself better. Yes, add some courage and confidence and many qualities might appear that were only hinted at in the girl.

"Have you come to torture me again?" she sniffed, tragically.

"I wasn't aware that that was what I was doing."

The visitor was very different from the visited. She was older, for one. She seemed to be about 20, but she could just as well have been 17 or 22. She was beautiful and, as if that weren't enough, she knew what clothes to wear and what make up to put on to really show that. Chin-length black hair, intelligent and amused eyes. Lips quirked in a smirk. Red, long overcoat that would've reminded Myrtle of John Constantine, if she'd ever heard of him. Myrtle hated her for everything that the other girl was and she _wasn't_. For living, for being cheerful and confident and pretty and never shedding a tear. The only thing that they seemed to have in common was that neither of them looked any different than they had 50 years before. And that was still unfair.

"You're not supposed to be here," Myrtle said. "If you don't go, I... I'll go call somebody."

"Call someone?... And tell them what?..."

"Dumbledore knows about _you._ I'll call him. I'll tell him you're here."

"He won't do anything. He doesn't have time. There's a war. And he'll die, soon."

Myrtle jumped up in anger and floated with a burst of temper, as if the other had said something terribly offensive. She swished up and down and when she managed to calm down enough, she stopped, her legs at least three feet above the floor, looked down at the other and said, accusingly:

"No, he won't! He's a good man, Dumbledore is."

"I didn't say he _wasn't_, Myrtle. But men die. It's their nature to do so. The good ones and the evil ones alike."

"Oh," said the ghost, with spiteful sarcasm. "As if you knew everything about death, Ava-Andra, whatever you're calling yourself now. Death, death, death, she says! As if she knew anything about it!"

The other's eyes were calm as they watched Myrtle's fit. The ghost was shivering with fury.

"I know enough about death and hell," she replied. "Enough to see that there's many deaths gathering around the horizon here and that the world will soon become a hell. I've come to you, Myrtle, to ask a few questions. And in return, I'll help you."

"_Help_ me! There's a not a being on this world that can help me! Ooooh, where were you all those years ago, when you didn't care and nobody really did... When you could still stop things and make them stop making fun of my glasses, you spiteful things, you horrible people, murderers you were..."

"Myrtle," the other stopped her. "I wasn't your enemy, remember?"

"YOU!" the ghost girl screamed. "You were the worst of them! No wonder they kicked you away, wolf-girl, monster, the things you used to _say_. About my glasses and my _hair_ and _everything_."

"And I was right."

Myrtle let out a long screech and dived into a toilet. The other waited patiently for the ghost to emerge.

"I told you back then," she said after five minutes, when it became apparent that the ghost wouldn't be emerging soon. "That I could help you. I could've helped you be pretty. I see it now, too. I see it every time I look at you. The reason why you've spent so many nights crying and moaning and whimpering could've gone away. I'm not a patient person, or a very kindly one. You know that, Myrtle. Always did. You knew what I meant with every comment I made. But you chose your pride and ego before happiness and there's no way I can help you without your will. I'll tell you something and you'll hear me. I know you do. I know you're listening. You're making the choice every moment. You're deciding you want to stay the same. You want the world to change according to your wishes. Well. It never will. Why do you think ghosts never grow older or wiser? Why do you think that all your colleagues who are still alive are grown up by now and have changed in God knows how many ways and you are always the same?... It's because you don't want to change. You're obstinate and so selfish that you'd rather hurt yourself infinitely than humble yourself a little bit – enough to move on. I can't help you with your looks now, Myrtle. I can't make boys like you now, or transfigure you pretty clothes. I can't explain your lessons in Transfiguration for you. Those are behind you now. It's been 50 years and things change. You can't bring them back. You can't change the world. But you can make yourself happier. If you dare, come out. I'll tell you how."

There was a long pause. But the other had patience. She simply looked at the wall, doing nothing, for the entire five minutes that it took the ghost to very quietly get out of the toilet bowl and peek from the stall.

"Nobody can help me," the ghost whispered.

"Because you won't allow them."

"Then help me."

The other turned her head and looked at the ghost, smirking.

"Very well. But. You must help me, too. I need to know about the staff and students of Hogwarts. And I think I'll live in your bathroom for a few days, if you'll have me here. Of course, it's all a secret, you understand."

Myrtle nodded slowly.

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Hermione cheerfully looked at her long, ordered lists with books and felt as if she could clap her hands in delight. All done. And it had taken only half a day. Now, all she had to do was take all the books off the shelves and rearrange them as her lists indicated.

She had completely expected Severus Snape to have a million books on Dark Arts and Potions and some on Charms and Transfiguration and all that. Which he did. She hadn't been surprised to discover Dickens and Wells and other Victorian writers in his library. She had rolled her eyes at Dante and Homer and Milton. She had snickered when she noticed that he too had a copy of "Hogwarts: A History". She had been very surprised when she'd noticed Tolkien and C.S. Lewis and Ursula K. LeGuin. And she'd grinned very widely when she'd realized that she had found blackmail material in the form of comics. Comics. Honest to God picture books with speech bubbles.

She found that she didn't want to use them to reduce her one-week period of slavery. But she could make it so much _better_.

She skimmed through one of the comics. Strangely drawn, but she didn't know much about these things. A dark-haired, very pale character in a long cloak (jee, she wondered who that reminded her of) and a young, very colored girl going somewhere in a car. And a... crow or raven or something, screaming at the girl-driver to drive on the right. In one of the panels, the girl said, in a very colored speech bubble "They put yellow stuff on they said it was butter but it tasted like earwax. Not exactly like earwax, just sort-of. It had all these Dalmatiums in it. But they aren't flowers. They're puppies." Hermione scratched her head, blinked twice and decided it was obviously something she could _really_ blackmail him with. Talking animals and nonsensical lines were _brilliant_ for that.

She put the comic carefully on the desk, then proceeded to take out all the books in tall, ordered stacks. Here went nothing.

_3 hours later..._

Hermione wasn't really tired. She was really bored. The entire re-arranging process consisted of her going around with her alphabetical list in her hand, extracting a book from one tower of books or another and placing it on the bookshelf, next to the previous one. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. For every book. Over a thousand times. With a speed on one book per minute, she'd be done in 20 hours. With the increasing speed, sooner.

And then an idea struck her. She called two house elves, told them the order she'd put the books in and directed them through the recovery and placing processes. She now entirely understood the temptation of always keeping elves around. They were faster than her. Much faster. And didn't complain at all.

_4 hours later..._

Severus Snape entered his library and narrowed his eyes. Everything seemed to be exactly as he'd left it that morning. The girl was reading a book, but she raised her eyes the moment she heard him come in. She didn't seem at all embarrassed.

"Hermione."

Damn, he couldn't spit that name at her. Maybe he could revert to Miss Granger?...

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you understood your position here?"

"One week slave. Yes, sir."

"The library..."

"Is all arranged."

A look of surprise passed over his face, then he went to check. True enough, it seemed to be reordered exactly as he had commanded. There was a long, smug pause for Hermione. And a long, unhappy one for Snape.

"Sir," she said. "There's something else I need to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

He sat down on a chair opposite her, glaring. He was not pleased at all by her managing things so quickly and being so happy about it. He would be even less pleased in a minute, but he didn't know that.

"It has come to my attention, sir, that you have a remarkable collection of books. There were some that, I must confess, I wasn't expecting to find here. I do believe I feel very much inclined to discuss your choice of literature with some of the friends I know, so that I won't have to bother you to lend them to me."

"By all means," he said, dark and superior and not quite understanding where this was going. "Do so."

"After all, you wouldn't want me to borrow your Dickens or Milton or... "The Sandman". They seem to be very treasured personal possessions."

Silence. You could hear a pin drop. Snape's eyes flicked to his shelf of comics, then at Hermione. Then he noticed a single number, opened on the desk. He was _not_ pleased.

"...I see. Well, you shouldn't worry about bothering friends with these things. I would be happy to," he cringed, "lend you some of my own treasured, personal possessions. But if you return any of them in any worse shape than you have borrowed them, you will regret it direly. I assume you will want access to books of magic, rather than the common, Muggle ones?"

Hermione smiled very widely and pleasantly.

"Of course. But I still might feel very interested in ordering myself the "The Sandman" and discussing it with other students and wondering which parts you liked best..."

He growled. What more did she want?... He enjoyed his reading and was not ashamed by it, but if it came out, it would be... uncomfortable. He'd lose some of that power over idiots that he loved so much to have. What a fool he'd been, though. To forget about those when ordering her to arrange his entire collection. But he'd never needed to hide anything that was in his personal chambers before. If she asked for too much, though, any and all deals were off. He hated blackmail and she'd be the first to discover it. As soon as he could think up a strategy, the deal was off and her ass was singed.

"...Unless, of course," she continued, "I'd enjoy my stay here so much that I'd forget the entire business."

"You are not here to enjoy yourself, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, please. Of course not. But there are things which I would appreciate."

"Such as?"

"A bed instead of a couch."

Snape nodded, reluctantly. He could allow her to transfigure it every night.

"Me calling you Severus in public. It's only fair."

His eyes narrowed. She was too smug, she was doing it to rub it in his face, to annoy him. It was only normal for _lovers_ to call each other by name, but she presumed too much.

"And no more chores, except the ingredients one. Though I will stay around until the week is finished."

"_Hermione_, you are not here to have fun."

"Oh, but I will. And..."

She'd pushed it too far and she only realized it too late. He got up and walked towards her slowly, stealthily, dangerously. She gulped, suddenly scared, realizing what a bad idea it had been to try to blackmail him at all, how...

"_Hermione._"

His voice was almost sweet. She stared at his mocking face, frozen.

"I'll change your chores, then, if you don't like your current ones. I'd _love_ to change them. And by the time you get out of here, you can tell whatever you like to whomever you like because, I assure you, I will have had my revenge in advance."

He took the number of "The Sandman" from the desk, returned it to its rightful place and left the library, in a cold gust of wind. Hermione shivered. Damn. Damn. Backfiring plan. Damn. She'd been too smug, too victorious to realize...

She remained in her chair for the remainder of the evening. He didn't show up.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

AN: Please review, it makes my day!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

AN: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Sorry I was a bit slow, but meh. Exams, real life, suddenly waking up and feeling alive and then realizing I haven't really studied for the past few months took their toll. Heh.

Now, where was I?... Ah, yes.

Chapter 4

Hermione felt utterly disgusted to be doing this. It was _degrading_. It was worse than cleaning toilets. It was more horrible than having to pretend in front of the world that she was supposedly sleeping with him – and cheerfully, at that. She hadn't thought him capable of doing _such_ a thing.

"Miss Granger, I'm _sure_ you can do better than that."

She adjusted his robe on more carefully. She wasn't a tailor. She had _never_ worked in a clothes' shop, to experiment with mannequins and she had never considered applying for a job as any sort of maid. And yet, there she was. _Dressing_ Severus Snape. Who seemed to be having all the patience in the world for maid-wannabes and who was very smug. He had shown up that morning wearing only pants and demanded of his slave to dress him. She had _not_ been amused. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to be able to wipe a certain dark smirk off his face.

Hermione thought, with grim amusement, that he was a _modern_ man. Propriety be damned, this wasn't the Victorian age, he seemed to say. And to add, thoughtfully, '_And I'm not a prude, Miss Granger. But I'm willing to think you might be'_. Well, she wasn't, thankyouverymuch, she really wasn't.

She adjusted his robes with a few small pulls. He looked at himself in the mirror, narrowed his eyes and said, almost displeased at the fact, "It will do."

"Of course it will do," she answered. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

She had meant to continue: carry your things? Throw flower petals before you? But after the little incident when she had asked whether to tie his shoelaces after polishing the shoes and he had agreed gleefully, she had decided sarcastic questions were _out_.

He left for classes, she inventoried his ingredients, skimmed some books and curiously read some of the "Sandman" comics, before she lay down on her couch and wondered what she could do to help her predicament. She couldn't outmanoeuvrehim, that had become obvious. Well, then, she'd just shock him silly by being the perfect damned slave.

Xxx

Meanwhile. Somewhere else.

She wasn't immortal. She was long-lived and by no means invulnerable. Keeping that in mind was what had made her survive for so long. Common sense and an aptitude for self-transfiguration – that was her magical combination. Also a lot and a lot of _prudence_.

She entered the throne room boldly.

"Master," she said, too damned cheerfully for her real mood.

"Bellatrixsss," Voldemort hissed. "What have you dissscovered?"

She walked up to him and smiled in a way that spoke of pure sex and lecherousness. What a pity for Voldemort that his self-experiments had led to impotence. And what luck for her – she'd hate it if she really had to play Bellatrix until the end and jump into bed with the half-man. Sleeping with disgusting people was against every code and law in her personal constitution. But pretending to want to sleep with them was... an acceptable mislead.

If they had been friends and Voldemort would've known her true identity, this was where she would've slumped down on a chair and said '_Meh. We be in trouble, m'lord an' it ain' gonna get no better 'less we cook up somethin' soon_ _an' make it really good, ya know?' _ But they weren't friends and he thought she was a brainless woman who got wet for him. Yuck.

"Oh, they were having _such_ trouble talking to the priests, that I don't think they're worth the effort."

"I don't care what _you_ think, Bella," he hissed, darkly. Good, let him think her as horrible as usual. As long as he didn't Crucify her, at least. "What stage are they in?"

"They've got about 4 or 5 steps left until all is done. They said it'd take about a month and a half, or two."

Voldemort stepped away from her, thoughtfully.

"You may go," he finally said.

"Very well, master," she replied.

She didn't kiss the hem of his robes. He wouldn't like it now and she really, _really_ didn't want to. She wandered away, cheering herself up remembering how _pretty_ the real Bellatrix Lestrange was at the moment, all tied up, gagged and deposited in a secret chamber underneath the stone floor of a basement. She rather hoped she'd remember to _feed_ the Death Eater from time to time.

But not _too_ often.

Xxx

Severus Snape was rather amazed when he got back to his chambers to find Hermione very respectful – if slightly bored.

"Would you like a bath?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted.

So, she ran the water and then helped him undress. She took off his shoes – that _amused_ him. She took off his robes and unbuttoned his shirt – that _delighted_ him in a sadistic way. She unbuckled his trousers – that's when it started going weird. He wanted to stop her, but she insisted, so he let her. He wondered if she'd go too far and attempt to take off his underwear, but, alas, that was one thing he would never find out. Just when he was pondering on how to stop her and whether to stop her or to just let her go on until she embarrassed herself one way or another (he was _not_ going to allow her to pass certain limits), Dumbledore's head showed up through the fireplace and distracted them both.

"Severus, I..." he started, then took in the scene (the Professor lying down, slightly ruffled, his shirt unbuttoned, still on, Hermione working on the pants) and stopped abruptly. "Oh."

The two stopped and shot him rather fixed glares.

"There was a story once," Dumbledore said. "About a man who fooled an entire village into believing that there was a treasure in a fox hole, or something of that sort. After successfully launching the rumor and seeing that the entire village rushed to dig up the fox hole, he grabbed a shovel of his own – because if so many people believed it, then it had to be true."

"Your point is, Headmaster?" Severus Snape asked, cocking his head questioningly (the cocking of the head was also good for seeing the aged headmaster better beyond Hermione's very fluffy mane of hair).

"I... feel the same way as the person in the story," the old man replied.

"Well, then," the raven-haired Professor said, as if making a very important point, "you had better hurry and deliver your message so we can get back to our pleasant actions, isn't that right?"

"Severus, I fear that this is terribly _improper_," Dumbledore said. "A _professor_ and a _student_, you _must_ understand that it simply _cannot_..."

He stopped there. Apparently, he did see the irony of the situation. There was an awkward pause. Hermione considered his silence and then she considered Severus and wondered what her chances of actually being engaged physically with the professor were. She felt embarrassed to be discovered in this position by the old man, even if it _was_ much more innocent than it seemed. Severus wondered mildly what strange plan she had in mind this time or whether she actually wanted to sleep with him and also found it amusing that Dumbledore should be jumping to conclusions. Meanwhile, the headmaster realized that he couldn't scold the two for their relationship when he had approved of it before he had known it was a possibility – and wondered if this was _good_ for them.

"There is a meeting of the Order tomorrow night," the headmaster said, deciding to be all business. They were grown ups and could handle themselves... at least theoretically. "At 8 o'clock."

"I'll be there," Severus answered.

Dumbledore disappeared in a puff of smoke and flames. The two exchanged a deep look, trying to figure each other out. Hermione decided that this was the perfect moment to stop undressing her "master" and move away before she made a fool of herself. Although... She did rather want to go further, to try him... She admitted to herself that she rather _wanted_ to at least attempt some sort of... something with him. (Her all too logical mind wondered why people never could admit to themselves that they wanted to... ah... to... with somebody. There was always that "I can't believe I thought that about _him_" attached to some thoughts or, better yet, replacing some parts with "ah..." and "umm...", pretending not to know what they wanted, even though it was obvious that, just like in her case, they wanted to errr... well... um – her mind decided that was the best place to trail off and she let it.)

"Will this do, sir?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered and considered offering her a place in the bathtub with him, just to see how she'd react. And decided quickly against it. _His_ mind had a different way of denying what his senses told him. It consisted mainly of dismissing his thoughts towards Hermione as the usual thoughts he had around women, or more precisely, as the usual thoughts _men_ usually have towards women, which were negligible, if dirty. He didn't deny that he found her attractive or that he pictured her sleeping with him, he simply denied the fact that he'd _actually_ do it and ignored the little voice that said that this time, he'd _love_ to do it. But just as he was about to go into the bathroom, there was a knock. He turned, walked to the entrance, looked outside, frowned, gripped his wand and opened the door.

"Yes?"

The visitor wore red, Hermione noticed. A _lot_ of red. As much red as leprechauns wore green. And she was not somebody she had ever seen before. Snape's first thoughts were along the lines of disarming her, with a part of his brain registering... but you don't want to know what men think in the privacy of their own minds or the exact degree in which their thoughts become quite _graphic_. It's the reason why he'd dismissed thoughts about Hermione so easily. Oh, you _are_ interested, even if just a bit? Well, I guess I can offer a translation between the meaning of some phrases and the way they actually sound inside male heads.

"She looks good" is, for example, pronounced, "I'd give her a tumble". "Her bosom is well-developed" is said, inside their heads "I'd love to squeeze her breasts _anytime_". "Her skirt is sexy" is fascinatingly translated into "Perfect for lifting and inserting". "She's cute" can be said as "Pining her against the wall, that'd do". "Her hair looks good" - "I bet it goes all wild on the pillow" etc. etc.

So what he _thought_ about her might not be entirely meaningful and to be told to the audience, but what his brain really registered would be said in normal (female or spoken) speech: "She looks _good_. I like the perfume. Finally, somebody wearing something else that robes _successfully_, those twits in Gryffindor can barely throw something decent on, no wonder we have uniforms." But those were side-thoughts. What really, really concerned him was "who is she and what is she doing here?"

"Hi," she said with a smile. "I'm Sarah Weller and I'm here to ask for some help. Can I please come inside?"

He gestured with his wand, making sure she'd see it and not try anything stupid. He was armed and dangerous and she had better understand that at once. She glanced, nodded in understanding, stepped inside, bowed to Hermione - who frowned -, and then sat down on the couch.

"What can I _do_ for you, Miss Weller?" he asked, dangerously.

"I work in the fashion industry, Mister Snape," she answered, putting on the looks of a perfectly noble, shy, Victorian girl. With big, innocent eyes and waiting for men to sweep her off her feet as she was the perfect _domestic angel_ who sweeps the house and makes everybody's life better and is a historical Mary Sue of the Jane Eyre kind. That kind of looks. Perfectly fake, as her attire screamed. _Nobody_ works in the fashion industry, wears a red overcoat, red boots with high heels and a short red skirt while being _honestly_ innocent and sweeping the house.

Even though her statement explained her rather striking appearance, it really didn't do anything for his _real _questions. He narrowed his eyes.

"And I want to become known in _all_ the right circles, as the mouse said when he was asked why he was going to the cats' masquerade."

Hermione gasped before she could help herself. Snape frowned at her. Sarah Weller's eyes twinkled with amusement. Hermione got a hold of herself and motioned the two to continue their talk. No reason for _her _to disturb them, even if she _had_ understood something rather vital. The conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.

"What do you mean by that?" Snape asked, leaning his wand on his leg, even if he still pointed it at the woman. "And what have _I_ got to do with it?"

"Why, sir," she answered. "I was under the impression that you were friends with one Narcissa Malfoy, who is rather highly-connected in some circles. And she could help me sell some products. But I would like it if this here matter remained _discreet_, as I wouldn't enjoy it if the headmaster of this esteemed school interfered with my business."

"You've come to the wrong place," Snape replied. Hermione nodded. Sarah Weller was not at all distracted by their agreeing on this.

"On the contrary, I think that I've stumbled upon the correct path, as the Bedouin said when his comrade told him that the road seemed to be going north instead of south and they had been supposed to reach a village three days before." Snape didn't comment on the comment. "As I am quite sure that you are precisely the man I'm looking for. Can you not introduce me to Narcissa? And do you not happen to collect information upon her husband's activities?... I see you shocked, sir, surely you didn't expect that I didn't know about your situation. I have _ears_."

Snape collected himself. His _shock_ had manifested itself through a very, very slight twitch, which he had maneuvered into a change of position, usually utterly unreadable for those around him. But Hermione would probably have caught it, too, if she hadn't been too busy being surprised herself.

"What do you want from me, Miss Weller?"

She sighed dramatically.

"I want a man I can trust, Mr. Snape. Somebody is going to be in a _very_ dire situation soon and it's either gonna be us, or them, as the pirate captain said to his lady when, after escaping in a leaking boat from the dungeons and stealing her from her husbands' rooms, he saw some sharks approaching them at top speed. There's some _grave_ things afoot."

"Dumbledore is..." Hermione started.

"Ha! Dumbledore!" she growled and let the entire Victorian domestic angel facade fall. "He's dying, surely you see that. And I am a _freelancer_. He is a rather nosy person. We don't mix well. What I _need_ is somebody I can rely on, somebody who can see sense. I work better with _Slytherins_ and I am convinced that you and your lover here fit that description well enough."

"How did you know about our relationship?" Hermione asked. Sarah Weller turned her eyes on her, almost bored, as if the question wasn't really worth answering, but... Well... she'd do the girl a favor and reply.

"I have _ears_, even if they're not necessarily in the walls. The deal is this: Snape, you get me in the Circle of Idiots, I keep you informed and we save the world together, hopefully without Nosy interfering."

Now, _this_ was more like the woman the clothes advertised. Snape's wand relaxed a bit more – but not entirely. Never entirely until he was _damned_ sure whom he was dealing with. After some... _incidents_, he had taken to something which people thought was so in character for him that they didn't give a second thought to: binding his partners to the bed. So he wasn't going to let his wand out of his hand anytime soon.

"I'll think about your offer," he said, his eyes narrowed.

"Very well, sir. This is my card."

She'd slipped back in the Victorian character, got on her feet quite gracefully, extended a card, then, seeing that he wasn't about to take it, she put on the table and left the room. He locked the door behind her and set up wards. Lots of wards. Then he pointed his wand at the card and checked it for spells. When that was done, he finally looked at it. It said "_Sarah Weller_. _Here for your fashion needs. Just Owl._"

"Hermione," he said softly. "There was something that made you gasp during this meeting. I'd like to know what it is."

"Her," she replied. "Sarah Weller's a fake name."

His eyes rose to look at her, demanding to know more, because that piece of information, quite frankly, was quite obvious.

"I was wondering why it sounded familiar," Hermione continued. "Then, when she said that thing with the mouse and the cats, I remembered. There was a character in one of Dickens' novels, The Picwick Papers, who used to talk like that. He was called Sam Weller."

"Fascinating, Hermione. And? What does it mean?"

"I don't know," the girl shrugged. "She just seemed to be pointing at him for some reason. But I don't see _why_. Maybe she was offering a tribute to him."

"Hm," Snape replied, unconvinced.

If they had known her better, they would have realized how utterly possible that was. And if they had known her _well_, they would have realized they could trust her. And if they'd have known her _very well_, they'd have groaned, knowing that she had something insane in store for them.

Xxx

AN: There. All done. Please review! Pretty, pretty please? It's rather cheery to see reviews when you're having a lot of trouble and getting chased by insane professors with Beatles haircuts and megalomaniac tendencies who are banging on your door, demanding that you let them in, so they can continue to tell you about their awesome lives of peril, fights against shepherd dogs, coin collections, assassins and how they can teach you ancient Japanese in three weeks if you just _succumb to their methods_.

I need moral support here as I fashion a rope of bed sheets to get away from him! Review!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Who, Potter?... He's worth a lot of money, but even so, I don't particularly feel inclined to own the man. I also... ah... stole a few ideas from Susana Clarke, who owns "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" and also a nice gentleman with thistle-down hair, whom I particularly like. That you, Susana!

AN: I'd like to thank all those who reviewed, but I can't help but notice a slightly worrying pattern: the number of reviews decreases by one with every chapter! * is amazed *

* also notices that things between "*" tend to become bold and to lose the "*" if one isn't careful to let a space between the sign and the letters * * is baffled *

* also notices that now the word editing program insists on reading the "*" as a sign of "please bullet this paragraph" and deleting the "*" * * is starting to be _rather_ displeased *

After wrestling with openoffice and its ideas of formatting, I am proud to give you...

AN2: No, wait. Just got another review for chapter 4. The "PaTteRN oF DoOm" is done for. Thank you, guys! * blows kisses *

Chapter 5

If the reader were to have somehow seen the woman who had talked to Myrtle and the woman who pretended to be in the fashion industry and then would have compared their long red, overcoats, overall appearance and actual traits, they might have come to the conclusion that the two were, in fact, one and the same person. And if the reader would have happened to walk into Binns' classroom during that particular time when he found it absolutely necessary to say a few words about fairies – we are afraid that walking into the classroom even slightly before that time would've led the reader either to exit quickly or to promptly fall asleep and therefore not hear anything -, the reader would have found out about a fascinating theory stating that human wizards had a lot of reason and very little magic, while fairies tended to have a lot of magic and very little reason. Although they sometimes _display_ sanity, fairy reasonings are known to be quite unsound.

And that was why the third strange woman, who had played at being Bellatrix Lestrange, was the same woman as the other two women who were actually a single person. So instead of having three mysterious characters running about the stage, one talking to ghosts, one impersonating Death Eaters while entrapping them in secret places and planning not to feed them often, and one insisting on pretending to be a Victorian lady with a career in the fashion world who really wanted to do some spying, we only have one single, red-clad, stunning woman who appears to want to play too many parts at the same time.

This was said simply for clearing up things in the future, so that the readers will not become as confused as they might be and as Severus and Hermione will be when everything goes loose and the woman, to whom we will refer to as Sarah Weller or the false Bellatrix, will end up fighting against herself, convincing Harry Potter that he should pretend to be the Dark Lord and locking up Hermione and Severus together in a house with the sole intent of having them sleep together while the war is raging on around England (this last part would be particularly strange, since... But I don't want to spoil you).

That is all the author wanted to say on the point of Sarah Weller, her plans and intentions and she hopes that this will make the readers understand – hopefully – what is going on.

Oh, and Sarah Weller is a fairy.

Xxx

Hermione and Snape considered the offer and demands of the woman in red and wondered whether they should consult with Dumbledore or not. Finally, they figured out that if she were some sort of ally to Voldemort that only the headmaster knew about, they really _should_ speak to him upon the matter, so Snape went to the old man's office, told him about the situation and found out that Dumbledore had never _heard_ of a Sarah Weller and couldn't think of anybody to resemble the description.

"But if she is so determined to join our cause, then, by all means, I don't need to see her. I trust that you are a good judge of character, Severus?"

"I should hope so," he replied. "But Miss Weller strikes me as... volatile."

"Is she likely to betray us to Voldemort?"

"I don't think so... no."

"Then, I say you should introduce her to Mrs. Malfoy and then we shall see how matters evolve."

"Indeed."

Snape left the old man's office, ready to return to his rooms. Little did he know that if he had thought of using Dumbledore's Pensieve and putting the memory of their meeting with Sarah Weller inside, the old headmaster would have declared at first that he did not know her, then he would've frowned, then his eyes would've widened and then he would probably have gotten a heart attack. Luckily, this oversight saved his life. The reason for his reaction might be hinted at by the fact that _she_ was the reason why he had declared himself to be homosexual nearly his entire life. Or maybe that fact won't tell much, at all. Um.

On the way down to the dungeons, Snape ran into Harry, Ginny and Ron, who had apparently been waiting there for him. They were leaning against a wall, but the two boys rose to cut his path as he went by. Ginny just stared at him. It is to be noted that she didn't say a single word throughout the conversation, just sat there and eyed him in such a way that made him wonder if she'd learned Legillimency and which caused him to put up his mental shields _quite_ rapidly.

"You," Ron said, always prone to anger. "What are you doing with Hermione?"

"Nothing," he responded with a snarl and then realized how utterly correct that statement was.

"Then let her go!"

"What Ron means to say," Harry quickly intervened, "is that we miss Hermione very much and we'd love to know that she's safe and sound. Also, we're curious about the fact that we didn't know about this relationship until she gave your name at the hospital and then took refuge with you."

Snape took in a deep breath. What he wanted to do was go down to his rooms and tell the girl what the headmaster had said and then make her rub his feet or something along those lines.

"Potter," he said, in no mood for niceties and in even less mood for _Weasleys_. "I assure you, she is fine. She will be returning. She doesn't want to be bothered. And why should it surprise you that if she had a relationship with me, she didn't tell you, when you act like brutes?... Especially you, Mr. Weasley. I find it perfectly normal that she didn't tell you about our relationship." Because there was none, of course. And the thought... _bothered_ him. Sure, he wanted her, but he _really_ wanted her? As in, a relationship?... How odd. And let's say that he did, how on earth did one start a normal relationship, again?

The professor chased his thoughts away and glared at the two again, since they _were_ guilty, weren't they? It was _their_ fault, as usual. Whatever _it_ might be.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, fully intent on continuing.

"Well, _I_'m not thanking you for nothing," Ron muttered. Harry was not at all deterred. In fact, he tried to make his looks even more apologetic, so he could get through all of this _diplomatically_. It worked, partially. Snape was less irritated with him than _the Weasley_, anyway.

"...But we were wondering if we could see her," Harry went on. "After all, she'd probably want to know that we were on her side through all of this."

Snape considered them. And then he decided there was no way around it, so he beckoned the three of them to follow him. The girl had not yet said a word. He found it unnerving. But he took the three strays home, wondering if Hermione would be cheered by his... magnanimity. When they got to his apartments, he announced them to his official girlfriend, then left to take a bath and let _her_ deal with the situation.

Hermione launched in a long, very fluffy description of how the two of them had come to be together and how she appreciated his talents and wit and intelligence greatly and how he had come to see her as a young woman rather than a know-it-all brat. She explained that she had made some rather timid gestures to prove her love and tenderness to him and that he had learned to accept them. And then promptly ravished her against a wall, since he wasn't a patient man, so she had left away all _her_ shyness and...

"Hermione, you're bullshitting us," Ginny said.

"Am not," she denied, turning red.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. Ron didn't look too enlightened, either. They stared from one girl to the other and then decided to leave them do their thing and just sit back as spectators. _This_ would be a show.

"Don't forget that _I_ was your drinking partner that night," Ginny said. "And you were indeed going on and on about Snape and how you'd like to ravish him and have him _do_ things to you. I won't mention them, but..."

I'd like to interrupt this story to point out that even though Snape had nicely removed himself to the bathroom and left _her_ do the talking, he had used eavesdropping spells and was now rather interested in the tale himself.

"...but," said Ginny, "nobody says things like those if they're already _enacting_ them."

"He's not a role player and I couldn't get him to agree," Hermione countered, turning red. "Well... or maybe I could've, if I'd found a way or a time to tell him that I'd love to be tied face-down on the bed and have a..."

"_Hermione,_" Ginny interrupted, to the relief of the two boys, who were quite certain that whatever Hermione wanted done to herself, _they_ didn't want to picture it.

'Damn it,' Snape thought in the bathroom. 'She was just getting to the good part.'

"What?"

"You wouldn't be describing that to convince me if I didn't need convincing. And I need convincing because the story simply doesn't add up."

The two boys cheered inwardly. They both thought something along the lines of "Yay, no more sex fantasies with Snape!", which very quickly became a disgusted mental grunt when they realized even _that _statement produced horrible mental images. Snape, for his part, reluctantly listened further, wishing he _did_ know what her fantasies were.

"Well, um..." Hermione started, unsure.

"You can trust _us_, mate," Ginny said. "Come on. _What's_ going on?"

Hermione took a deep breath, thought about Snape and Dumbledore killing her for telling people about their _plan_, and then realized that the difference between what she was _supposed_ to do and what she _would_ do shouldn't bother her, so she decided to confess all.

"Ok," she replied. "I'm not dating him."

Pause. Ron let out a combination between a relieved sigh and a surprised gasp, the physical impossibility of which making him choke on his own breath, while Harry stared, blankly. Ginny nodded. She had _expected_ that.

"The truth is," Hermione continued. "That the night I got drunk with Ginny, I decided to go and beat up Malfoy, the older one, for trying to get Ginny."

"What?!" the boys went.

"I was _drunk_. Horribly," Hermione sighed.

"True," answered the other girl.

"So I somehow got to Hogsmeade and before I could go any further, the only car in the village hit me. I ended up in St. Mungo's, gave Snape's name as being the closest relation I had and woke up here, with the professor telling me that due to my stupidity and giving his name, everybody thought we were lovers, so we might just blame the entire episode on _that_."

Pause. Then Ginny:

"That doesn't sound overly logical."

"Meh."

"But Hermione, _Snape's_ name?" Ron squeaked.

"I was drunk and was acting upon the subjects of my conversation with Ginny while we were drinking. Snape was one of them."

"Major one," remarked the red-haired girl. "_Very_ major. So. This is a mess."

"Not _that_ bad," Hermione replied. "I have to stay here for the week and sort of _slave_ to Snape to make up for dragging him into this – arranging books, measuring ingredient quantities, that sort of stuff." She left out the annoying dressing and undressing part. "But it's not bad, he's not very creative in this direction. House elves take care of _a lot _of things, so I mostly hang about and read his... books." Comic books, to be precise. But she had decided _not_ to disclose that information.

"You're telling me that you're a servant, pretending to be a girlfriend, to your professor crush and then insist it isn't a mess?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah."

"Crush?" Ron asked, slowly. He hadn't wanted to register that part. He really hadn't wanted to.

"Yeah," Hermione muttered, turning scarlet red.

"See?" asked Ginny. "That color of her face. It shows the truth. False sex memories?... Perfect complexion. Mention of crush, red."

The conversation strayed to safer grounds, lasted for a few more minutes, then the three took their leave, not wanting to still be there when Snape returned.

Xxx

'I _hated_ Salazar Slytherin,' Sarah Weller thought, looking at the toiling Death Eaters and priests of some deity whose name she hadn't bothered to remember. Some were chanting, the others were setting the stage for yet another part of the ritual and she _knew_ that in some rooms, not far away, some were brewing something. 'He was _such_ an ass.'

She was wearing her Bellatrix Lestrange look and thought wistfully of that wonderful past before she had become so _damned_ vulnerable. If anybody saw past her disguise, she'd probably wind up dead. But they _wouldn't_, because she was so good at her job. That made her smile – gesture which on Bellatrix' face looked exactly like the woman's insane grimace.

"How long is it going to take?" she asked of the Head Priest.

"A month and a half or two," he answered, tiredly.

"That's what you said last time."

"Last time was yesterday afternoon."

"Hmm," the false Bellatrix nodded. That made sense. "Well, then. Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you."

"Goodbye, then."

She left the tall, stone underground room, lit with torches and magical orbs, leaving the ritual-makers and the Head Priest behind. She climbed up the stairs to the higher parts of the semi-ruined castle and went outside, where it was incredibly sunny and... spring-ish. She liked spring. She walked towards the forest and, when she was sure enough that nobody could see her, she dropped her Bellatrix appearance and wondered what she should be doing next: go back to Snape and ask him about introducing her to Narcissa? Or take care of the horcrux?

She decided to take care of the horcrux. Reluctantly, she put her Bellatrix appearance back on, ringed the woman's key to her vault and left off for Gringotts. She'd take it and then throw it in Mount Vesuvius – after a bit of excavating to reach the lava. Horcruxes went badly with being thrown into active volcanoes. That Tolkien guy had been brilliant to express that in his books – the ones greatly inspired by true magical history.

She hoped Vesuvius would do, otherwise, retrieving the Hufflepuff Cup would turn out to be a real bitch.

Xxx

AN: Another chapter done! Wheee! I'm in the middle of exams and need cheering up (and also moral support) so please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, "raging hormones" would mean something a lot more terrible than they do when Rowling mentions them.

AN: Thank you so much for reviewing, guys! You have no idea how wonderful it is to see that somebody has something to say about what you've written! (unless you also have works on ). It makes my day, every time. I started this thinking I'd probably abandon it, like I usually do with fanfics, but it's getting fun and you're keeping me going. So, thanks!

Oh, btw. The scene with Hermione and Snape is a little something that struck my dream-hazed mind this morning, so I decided to put it in. It's vastly edited from what occurred to me, though. I was half-falling asleep, which means that character-traits and actions strayed through a wide range, from things considered normal, to Snape half-raping her, amused by the thought that she _wants_ it, to one of them (can't remember which) sprouting out a very advanced magical theory which sounded _astoundingly_ brilliant in my dream – I have no idea what the theory _was_, but my past experience with dreams states clearly that my feelings of utter amazement at the brilliance of it mean that it was utterly weird in strange ways. For this, see the time when I was convinced in the morning that I'd dreamed a perfect part of a novel during the night, tried hard to remember it, finally did and then I realized that my novel about a university with strange things going on in it, educational ideas, a crazy rector and tangled up love relationships had _nothing _whatsoever to do with the adventures of a philosophical tree leaf in Japan. Err.

Diamond-helen * hands her the red boots * I have a pair just like those. The problem is, I walk a lot and the heels are _killing_ me. So I don't walk in them a lot. They're almost brand-new. I think it takes a fairy or a much more womanly woman than myself to wear them cheerfully.

Zafaran Good luck with figuring out all the hints. I'm making this up as I go, as worrying as that may be. Though, to be truthful, I look back to see if any of the things I've said inspire me, so those are hints to myself, so... You might figure out the plot before me O_o

Chapter 6

The horcrux dropped in the lava with a satisfying "plop". Sarah Weller nodded to herself, then closed the chasm she had opened into the volcano for the simple purpose of disposing of the offending magical article. So. That left... what?... 2 of them? There was the annoying snake and then Potter himself. She wondered if she ought to kill the boy, but decided against it. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer; never had been. And Voldemort's unfortunate incident was a warning to everybody else – she couldn't very well risk her _own_ life in the struggle. She was too important. (We stop here to tell the reader that Sarah Weller holds a _very_ strong belief in her own importance and stature in the world – whether it is optimistic or true, the author doesn't know. And as for Sarah Weller herself, she never even considered questioning this belief, since it came _very_ naturally to her to have it)

She sat on a stone, her head in her hands, looking thoughtfully at the very steep slope of the volcano's interior, just in front of her. Right. So. She had to guide Myrtle towards her afterlife. Ok, she'd do that. She had to become a very _fashionable_ person. Good. She had to get rid of Nagini and the Voldemort inside Harry – the last one made her think of the whole _"your greatest enemy is within you"_ thing as being quite _too_ literal at the moment. It was _not_ good, it was _not_ simple and she was _not_ pleased. She also had to feed Bellatrix... It was about time to do it, lest the woman should die of hunger or something of that sort.

She shrugged to herself, then went off to buy some frozen pizza for Bellatrix.

Before you consider that kind, bear in mind that she had no intention whatsoever to _cook_ it.

Xxx

As soon as she saw him, she realized something was off. Hermione was standing in the middle of the room and had just been wondering what she should do now, that her friends were gone. And then she saw Snape, who looked every bit like he knew something she did not. It was a miracle that the man had managed to become a spy, considering the way his face betrayed him. Or maybe he meant for her to see that?... The idea made her shiver.

"So, Miss Granger," he said, walking towards her and stopping too close for comfort. "You were telling Miss Weasley about the acts you would indulge in with me."

She gulped and then decided that the best defence was offence – and that clichés like that one have become clichés because they _work_.

"You were _spying_ on us!"

He smirked and made one more step towards her. They were _too_ close right now. She drew a breath.

"It's _my_ home, Hermione. You have to admit, I'm fairly entitled to it. And besides, I'd thought that with your intelligence, you would have been able to figure out that I would do it."

He was right. If the thought had occurred to her, she would have suspected him immediately. But it hadn't.

"And I was wondering," he said, taking her by the hand and manoeuvring her across half the room – she complied, trying to figure out what he was doing and not seeing a reason to oppose until she seemed to be heading for the bedroom, but that turned out to be something different than what she had in mind – instead of dragging her into his bed, he pinned her against the wall next to the door. "I was wondering what sort of fantasies you might have of me."

"Ah, nothing too unusual," she squeaked.

"_Do_ tell."

At this precise moment, Hermione's mind apparently tried to make an escape from the situation and started thinking up very strange things. Such as a theory about house elves, magic, clothes as a symbol of power and his buttons being in the perfect shape to become vessels of great power or UFOs. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts.

"Tell what?"

"I'll start, then," he replied in a low, seductive tone. "You were saying that you wanted to be tied to the bed, face-down. I find that interesting, as most people would want to be facing up..."

She looked deep into his expecting eyes, thought about all the dreams (daydreams and the usual, night sort) she'd had about him, felt his body against hers and thought, 'I can't get away from him, can I?' She saw now why he had taken the wall instead of the bed. It was more impressive, in a way, she felt the trap quite well, but not necessarily in a sexually imposing manner. If he'd have taken her into the bed, she would have panicked and run away screaming, but this way... She realized that her mind was straying, that her thoughts were running wild, because there was something she didn't want to admit to herself, she didn't want to give into it even _now_. But she would be brave, she was a Gryffindor, she...

She kissed him on the lips and sneaked her arms around his neck. Why deny it? She'd wanted to do this for a long time, but had never dared to act upon it. He responded enthusiastically for a while, then drew back.

"That does not mean you can distract me into forgetting my question," he muttered. "_Do_ continue."

"Um. Where were we?"

"Sex, Hermione. Sex. Do try to stop stalling. Otherwise I will be forced to use legillimency."

"Right," she answered. But wasn't it absolutely normal to stall?... "It wasn't really much of a fantasy, truth to tell. Just a sort of me-pretending-I-don't-like-it-and-getting-seduced sort of thing. In which at the beginning I would try to fight against you, then you would... touch me all over... drive me insane... have sex with me... untie me... and have sex with me again. That's pretty much it."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"That all? Perhaps I _should _use my vast mind powers to see what you _really_ had in mind."

"I swear, that was everything!"

"Hmm."

And with that not-even-a-word comment, he let her go and went away into the other room. She felt suddenly abandoned. Empty. And betrayed. She had spilled it, now he was letting her go, having gained the knowledge at no trouble for him at all. It was unfair and unpleasant and very, very real and very Snape-like. She felt... she felt, over all, bitterly disappointed. She hugged herself and looked down, intent on not moving another muscle for a long, long time and giving herself a long, long lecture about liking "bad guys" and how bad that was always going to end up. And how one shouldn't spill their secrets to...

"Are you coming, Hermione?"

His voice woke her up from her reverie and she got up instinctively, looked through the door and saw him lying down on the bed, his arms under his head.

"Um," she said. That was becoming her catchphrase, apparently.

"Or are you going to be a perfectly proper _Gryffindor_?" he added, a smirk on his lips. She just stood there for awhile, trying to decide... And finally coming to a conclusion. She wouldn't just go to him as if she were a puppy in need of... well, of a good shag. Not _her_. She stood straighter, put on her most _impressive_ and _grand_ look (which were probably quite unimpressive and modest, as such things go) and said:

"I'll have you know that fantasizing about you is not the same as being willing to jump in your bed on the first given occasion."

"Then don't jump. _Climb_."

"What for?" she asked. "So you could make a fool out of me? 'We pretended to be lovers and it appeared, she did want to sleep with me, so I had her anyway and then dumped her on first occasion' – that sort of thing?"

"You don't propose I should _marry_ you, I hope. Because if you do, you shall be sorely disappointed."

"Of course not," she scowled. "But..."

There was a knock at the door. They paused, uncertain of what they should do. On the one hand, Hermione didn't want to ruin the moment – on the other hand, not answering the door was giving Snape a blatant, clear answer. And it wasn't really for _her_ to decide. In the same time, he wondered what _he _should be doing – go and open the door and see who it was and what they wanted? Open the door and blast whomever it was into oblivion? Ignore it? It would seem presumptuous to ignore it. He glared darkly at the Universe in general, then went off to open the door, clutching his wand in his hand. He still hadn't made up his mind as to what exactly he should be doing about the visitor when he opened the door.

"'Ello, Sev!" she said and stormed in like a red whirlwind.

"Weller," he spat.

She grinned at him, then saw Hermione looking less than pleased, turned her eyes from one to the other, then frowned.

"You two have a distinct air of sexual frustration about you," she said, then smiled, delighted with her observation skills. Which were less than perfect, since she failed to notice the _murderous_ looks sent her way and the way the two avoided looking at each other for the rest of the conversation. "Well, what about that Narcissa fashion business?"

xxx

AN: Please review. I am known to love reviews and to interact with reviewers who say things that I feel need to be responded to. (and also to inspire myself from what you say)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, "raging hormones" would mean something a lot more terrible than they do when Rowling mentions them.

AN: So yes, I love writing randomly. Actually, what I'm doing is cheering myself up because of exam depression and post-favourite book blues and the horrible knowledge that I have stumbled upon a wonderful, wonderful original novel idea, that I'm _not good enough to write yet_. And might never be. Oh, that I were a Dante, or a Milton! Or, switching to the non-amazingly-old-authors-that-I've-actually-read, Marion Zimmer Bradley or Gaiman or C.S. Lewis?... Or even as good as some fanfic authors, like Rohrschach's Blot or thereddragonsorder, Miranda Flairgold and the rest? Ah... The pity of it. I have too little strength, but perhaps time and persistence will make up for it. * stops wailing now *

Chapter 7

Snape invited Sarah Weller to sit down, noting at the same time that she was dressed in precisely the same way as she had been before. Same red boots, same red overcoat. She couldn't keep her accent and manner clear, but she had no other clothes, while being in the _fashion_ world? He much doubted that.

"The Narcissa fashion business," he growled, "will wait until you start being _honest_ with us, explain what you're doing here and settle on a single _personality_."

He waited for her to either deny her obvious strangeness, or to admit it shamefully. He didn't expect what followed next.

"Why?" she asked, honestly astonished. "We're on the same side. These things shouldn't matter between us – and I can be careful around the other guys."

"It is _because_ we're on the same side that you shouldn't keep things like these from us," Hermione said quickly, before her Professor might pulverize the woman.

"I don't see why, really. Look, _he's_ got secrets, but I'm not going to demand he tell them all to me."

"But that's _his_ problem."

"And my personality and background are _mine_."

"Miss Weller," Snape growled, darkening with dislike, "I won't move a muscle until you tell us what is going on. Better yet, if you refuse to cooperate, I'll... make sure... you don't leave the dungeons anytime soon."

There was silence for a few moments, the woman in red appearing _quite_ astonished at the demand and consequent threat. Then, she took a breath and started talking, almost defyingly.

"Well! I never expected this. I _can_ tell you my life's story, and you might believe me, but you should know that I'd be lying if I told it. So, a lie or silence, take your choice. Because I ain' gonna tell ya nothink." She cleared her throat and, with it, her accent. "You'll have to trust me as I am or I can just go and take care of things on my own. But then we'll be working separately and that would be bad for both of us – especially for you, I dare say."

"Miss Weller," Snape said. "_Neither_ of those two was an option. I want no lies and no silence. I want the truth or I will take you prisoner."

She jumped up from her seat. He took out his wand, expecting some sort of magical attack. Instead, she just stared at him, defiant, proud, her eyes burning like an offended queen's. Her chin was held high. Defiant. He stood there, his wand at ready. Hermione was in the background, worried, not daring to say a word.

"You are _so_ impertinent!" Sarah Weller said. "Imagine that! Taking me prisoner! Why, you... you... _men_ have such a way of thinking! Hah! How dare you!"

"Sit down, _Miss Weller_, or..."

"I won't sit down! You are getting on my _nerves_! But, alas, I am merciful and will give you another chance to accept my offer."

"And _I_ refuse it."

"You have until three days from now to change your mind."

"Which part of 'prisoner' did you not understand?"

"Hmpf!"

She turned on her heels and went for the door. Hermione cringed. Snape shot a stupefying spell. The red light darted out of his wand, but then rebounded on some sort of invisible shield around her and went towards Hermione, who didn't manage to duck in time and collapsed on the floor, inanimate.

"Fuck," Snape muttered. Meanwhile, Sarah Weller had got out the door and he ran after her – Hermione could handle it (he didn't pause to think what she was to _handle_). By the time he reached the door, she was turning a corner. By the time he reached the corner, she was running and a broomstick was flying towards her. She caught it in mid-flight, he raised his wand, thought of what he could do, summoned a net in mid-air and... missed her. She flew quicker and quicker on the broom, turning another corner. He'd never catch her _now_. He swore again, then returned into his rooms, intent for a glass of Firewhisky.

It was only when he was pouring his glass that he remember Hermione. Ah, there she was, almost behind the couch in her fall. Her legs were showing. He went to her, knelt besides her, whispered the counteracting spell and waited until she opened her eyes, bewildered.

"Nice aim, _Professor_," she said, when she came to. He wisely didn't mention that he had nearly forgotten her there. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her lips. Very briefly. Then rose, scowling.

"I'm not in the mood any more."

He went back to the Firewhiskey. Hermione remained on the floor for a few more moments, confused and uncertain about how she should react to... _that_. Perhaps she should jump and hit him for idiocy, for bad manners, for taking advantage, for... She shot him a look, saw him bitterly drinking his glass of alcohol and sighed. She got up and went to the library, if for no other reason, then because that's where she always went when thing seemed to be going insane.

Xxx

Bellatrix was momentarily blinded by the light that invaded her tiny room. If the crazy Red Woman would have simply cuffed her hands and attached her to the wall with a chain and a leg iron, she would've understood. But her tormentor probably had a kink for bondage, since her hands were cuffed, _both_ her legs were caught in iron rings, and cuffed together, and her handcuffs were attached, via a chain, to the ceiling. Not so bad that she couldn't lie down, but if she tried to leave the room, she'd have a lot of trouble. But she would've had a lot of trouble anyway. This was _ridiculous_. But maybe this way the Menace was making sure that she wouldn't rust her chains too easily in the underground tiny stream that she got her water from and that came in through a part of the room, made a small pool that Red Hag had tamed there and went out.

Oh, and she was generally left in the dark. Generally meaning _always_ in this case. And boredom and hunger got much more intense when there was nothing to look at.

"Hello, Bella," the Crazy said. "I'll have you know that Snape is your biggest enemy EVER!"

The captured Death Eater glared. _She_ had a _different_ notion about who was her greatest enemy ever.

"He wanted to _capture_ me," the Red Maniac continued. "Now, imagine what that would've meant for _you_. I'd make it through, in a week or a month, or so. But you'd probably be dead by starvation by then, and wouldn't that be a pity? "

Well, _that _was bound to happen anyway.

"So I brought you some food. Just in case I get into trouble. Well, not _food_, food. I've brought you some planted potatoes and carrots and parsley. And cauliflower. You can _grow_ them."

And indeed, she brought three huge crates in – the carrots were sharing with the parsley, she presumed.

"No light," she croaked. "They'll die."

"Oh, right!" the Little Red Hag Riding on Her Nerves said, cheerfully, then waving her wand around to create artificial light and a switch. "There we go. You should've _told_ me you had no light."

Bellatrix growled. The woman left. She looked around – at least there was light. Well, gardening it was.

Xxx

"Ah, Bellatrixs"

Voldemort turned towards her with a delighted expression that she did _not_ like. At all. If Evil Incarnate was cheerful, something was _deadly_ wrong.

"The priessts have told me that the ritual will be done in two dayss' time!"

Fuck.

"They have managed to find the missing _necessaries _for the ritual in another place. Soon, my dear, the great Salazar Slytherin will walk among us. With our powers combined, that fool, muggleloving Dumbledore will fall, along with his Order. And of course, he will be bound to _me_."

Doubly fuck.

"Are you sure that you can bind him, Sire?" she asked, hoping against hope that he'd say "no" and delay everything.

"Yesss."

Never mind "fuck" multiplications. She had to _do_ something! But first, she had to make sure that the horrible glare he directed at her, the one that said _I am displeased with your questioning my power/ ability / utter greatness in everything that I try_ wouldn't turn into something rather disastrous for her. She bowed, humbly.

"It is just that I have heard of Salazar Slytherin's _fickleness _and felt rather afraid that there might be a moment before you can _bind_ him that might prove fatal to us."

"Is that sso?"

There. Most of the damage was going away. But he was looking at her suspiciously – she wondered _why_... Oh, right. The way of speaking and the bow that was too much of a curtsey. Maybe it had seemed ironical. Right. She'd turn that into _honesty_ soon enough, adding shyness and worry and tons and tons of devotion.

"Sire," she said, looking straight at him with as much of the aforementioned feelings that she could muster and decided to add some boot-licking to it. "I am amazed by the greatness of your magic, I've never even heard of such terrible things before."

"And it _terrifiesss _you, Bella?" he asked, half-pleased.

"Yes, sire."

He extended a hand and pet her almost gently on the cheek. Her first instinct was to draw as far away as possible, so she did the exact opposite and pressed her face against his hand.

"There iss _nothing_ to be afraid of," he said. "Now, go. I have much to think of."

She inwardly let out a deep breath and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Bella?"

"Yes?"

She didn't even have time to turn before she felt an invisible hand clutching her neck. She choked and panicked, grasping at the empty air.

"There iss nothing to be afraid of... exsept me."

He walked in front of her, so she could see he didn't need his wand to kill her. And he smiled, a horrible grimace, his face splitting with it. She struggled to get free – but not too much, because he might just let her go.

"I don't want to hear my actsionss quesstioned again. Not even for sssilly, womanly _fear_."

He let her go. She fell on the floor, gasping for breath.

"_Now_ go, Bella."

She didn't say or do anything else, but almost ran out of the room. Whacked, crazy, maniacs, the whole lot of them, Voldemort, and Bellatrix and Snape and Dumbledore and all the rest. She hated humans. She did. All of them. She wanted to go home, dammit! This wasn't her place. She'd nearly been _done for_ twice in a single night. And it wasn't fair. And she would sue the person who made her life so horrible and if there was some sort of crazy, godlike being that decided how her life should go, she'd find the said godlike being and hit it badly. If it were some sort of a writer, she'd break all its pens and keyboards or whatevers. She hated humans and she hated her life and Voldemort was nuts and Salazar Slytherin was about to come back to the world and _then_ what chance would they have? She'd have to act quickly. Where was Nagini? Could she kill the damned snake _now_, or did she have to come back later? And Potter... Damn. _Potter_.

Xxx

Harry woke up in the middle of the night by means of Ron hitting him with a pillow. It was dark and cold and _night_ and something was beating him up. It took him a few seconds to realize what was going on, and then he caught the damned pillow.

"Stop that," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Message from Hermione," Ron replied. "She got into trouble with Snape, lots of it, didn't say what, but she called us downstairs, in the Transfiguration classroom, to tell us about it."

"Damn." Harry searched for his robes, put them on over his pyjamas, then he and Ron rushed out, to the great annoyance of the Fat Lady. "What time is it?" he asked.

"About 4 am," Ron said. "Hey, do you think he tried to rape her or something?"

"He'd better not have," Harry growled. "Should've brought the Invisibility Cloak."

"I don't think there's anyone around at this time of night... morning. Whichever."

"Probably not. Unless Snape realizes she's gone."

"But if she's in trouble because of him, I _want_ him there, mate."

They rounded the last corner, nearly ran to the door, opened it, went in, and discovered somebody who was most definitely _not_ Hermione in front of the classroom. She was dressed in red, had black hair, a wand in her hand and was...

"Stupefy"

… and was stupefying Ron. Harry grabbed his own wand...

"Stupefy"

… but, alas, too late.

Xxx

AN: there. Done for this chapter. Please review?...


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: JK Rowling had a brilliant idea and misused it at points. I am using her idea and misusing it worse.

AN: So, so, so sorry I haven't updated since forever, but I was busy trying to take care of my life. It sort of worked out. Also working on an original novella. Which doesn't work out just as well as the life thing. But hey, I'll keep trying. Thanks for your wonderful reviews and for the support you offered me and for everything. Now, the show will go on.

And a piece of advice: never trust a fairy, even a well-meaning one.

Chapter 8

Harry opened his eyes to find that he was tied up _very _tightly on a bed and couldn't move. It appeared that his captor liked good and tried methods of binding, as opposed to magic. But the feeling was, nonetheless, very worrying. Not as worrying as a woman in red clothes hovering over him.

"Hi," she said with a smile and a wave. "Guess what?"

Harry didn't want to. But she went on, anyway.

"I'm on your side," she explained. "I really am. Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

"Yeah..." Harry mumbled.

"Good! Well, you have one."

"WHAT?!"

"You do," she said. "Well, more like you _are_ one. Sorry, mate."

"WHAT?!"

"It appears that when Voldemort tried to kill you – the first time, that is – he put a piece of his soul into you. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Wha-..."

"So, you're carrying around one of the very things that keep him alive. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll remove it."

She prepared her wand and his eyes got larger and larger in worry. She seemed very cheerful and friendly, but he was still _tied up to a bed_. At least, he assumed it was a bed. It was soft and bed-like. It had to be a bed.

"How?" he squeaked.

"Oh, by shooting an Avada Kedavra at you," she said, just as cheerfully and friendly as before.

Harry nearly had a heart attack – which would have done the job for her.

"But don't worry!" she said, seeing his paling face. "It won't kill you. It might not even hurt. Well, I hope not. Hurt, I mean. Well... I hope it won't kill you, either."

"B-but..."

"And then you can go back to your friend. He's tied up in the next room. If you're still alive, that is."

And that's when Harry really panicked.

"Oh, God, oh God, please _don't_, I'm sure there's some other way to do this, I don't want to die... Not yet, I'm still a virgin..."

She stopped her wand and frowned.

"A virgin, you say?"

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded, very energetically. If this pathetic excuse worked, he'd go for it and stay a virgin his entire life. He didn't pause to think of the irony there.

"Jee," she answered, lowering her wand. "That _is_ a pity. I know of another method to take care of that horcrux with much fewer chances of you getting killed in the process, but we simply don't have enough time for that one. I'm so sorry. But hey, about that virgin problem, would you want _me_ to help you?"

"Um." This wasn't going as planned. "Thanks, but I want my first time to be with somebody special."

The woman in red frowned, then scowled, then raised her wand back up. And growled.

"I_ am_ special! Hmpf! Avada Kedavra!"

xxx

Hermione polished Snape's shoes. While he was still in them, reading a book and sitting comfortably on the couch. Kiss or no kiss, she was still his slave. No getting away from His Bastardness. She found that she rather resented the whole situation. He kept going from hot to cold in seconds. Forget _la dona e mobile_. Make it _Le Snape e mobile_.

"Do you have a..." Hermione stopped.

"A what?"

Well, it was too late to take back her question, which was really along the lines of "do you have a slave fetish?"

"...A book on chirography?"

A pause.

"I don't recall having one."

"I haven't seen one in your library, either. It's a fascinating domain."

"Ah. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you need one?"

"Oh... I was just wondering. I have a lot of time to think down here, you know."

"Then get up here."

"Sorry?"

"Since you asked about a book on writing and my shoes are properly polished, I do believe that I can assign you a different task. You can be my secretary for now and write down some notes as I dictate them to you."

"Alright. Whatever you wish for, master."

Now she knew how Malfoy house elves felt like. Especially as he gave her a _look_. It probably wasn't as physically painful as a Malfoy cane, but it still did the trick pretty well. She gave a small smile as she sat at his desk, grabbed a quill and some paper.

"Whatever I wish for?"

"Yep."

He let the book down, went to her and kissed her with a naturalness that made her feel as if they'd somehow been in a relationship since forever, but she'd been hit on the head and couldn't remember it due to a special sort of amnesia, which actually changed her memories and made her feel she actually recalled another, Snape-less life. It was a complicated feeling, but this was Hermione and 'complicated' was her domain.

"Um," she mumbled underneath his lips. "This is unexpected."

Well, it sounded better than 'what seems to be possessing you lately?'

He pulled back.

"We were interrupted the last time."

"I never said I wanted it. I was... hesitating."

"Surely you've had enough time to make up your mind by now."

Yes. The time had been sufficient to rethink everything over and over and over again. Which didn't mean that she'd actually come to any real conclusion. Sure, she wanted him, but did she really want it to be like this?... So... casual? Informal? Non-committing, non-anything, strictly informal, strictly superficial, just him and her and no plot line to unite them?...Or was it something more and he was just acting as if it were nothing because... of no reason she could discern, but who knew?

"What do you want from me?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"I would have thought that I made my intention clear."

"Well... that intention... yes. But what exactly is this? Is it an affair? A relationship? A big lipped alligator moment?"

"A _what_?!"

"Right. You wouldn't know the reference. There's this scene in a movie, where a dog is saved by a singing big lipped alligator, scene which bears nearly no relevance to the plot, is awfully weird and nobody ever mentions it ever again. Or that scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where they go through a horribly creepy tunnel. And nobody ever mentions it ever again. Or..."

"That makes remarkably little sense, Hermione."

"Is this something very weird, that just happens without any reason, without any motivation and about which we'll never talk about ever again after it's finished? One of those awkward stuff that never get told to anybody?"

Hermione suddenly decided that mentioning big lipped alligators was a bad idea. Especially since he was staring at her like that. She wondered briefly if mentioning it was a big lipped alligator moment in itself. So she did the only thing she could think of and continued looking at him as if she'd asked a perfectly coherent and normal question.

"I ask you again, are you proposing that I should marry you?"

"Of course not. Don't take it out of proportion, I was just wondering what it is that you want."

"Looking for a confession of love, then?"

"I want to know where I stand and what I should expect."

"And should I expect you to bolt if I answer wrongly?"

"Stop evading! What is this?"

He paused. She watched him attentively for a clue of any sort and realized, suddenly, that he was uncertain of what he wanted himself. Or at least, she fancied that was it. It took him long enough to think about it. Finally, without a single muscle betraying what was in his heart and soul (but the long silence spoke for itself, really), he answered her.

"It's lust. This is an affair."

"So I should expect that tomorrow morning, if this happens, we shall both feel embarrassed and... never mention it again."

"We can see how things evolve from there."

"Oh. Good."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Does the answer satisfy?"

"Yes. Now let me think about what I want."

"Haven't you already..."

Now, dear reader, sorry for intruding again upon the storytelling, but you must truly get into the spirit of things. Everything is quiet. Dungeon-y. The only thing buzzing like mad is Hermione's mind, trying to make sense of... whatever she might be having with Severus. She doesn't get it. There's many things that are just insane in the world and we like to pretend that it isn't so by selecting certain elements and sticking them together in an order that seems logical to us. Then we know life has a meaning. We give it that meaning. Unless God does. But we really don't want to go there, do we? Good.

So, imagine this relatively coherent world. It was calm. It was human. It was understandable.

This is what happened.

There was music. All of a sudden, there was music. Getting closer and closer. And closer. It was... It was... Disco. It was honest to God disco music. Old beats, coming through the walls like a big cloud of 80s, completely out of place, completely out of whack, with no logical explanation whatsoever.

Hermione and Severus stared. She, in disbelief. He, with his hand on his wand, ready to react to this unknown thing, if it proved to be a threat.

Then the cloud of Disco reached ground 0 and proved to have a ghost in the middle of it all, singing her heart out, insane, strangely happy and with a weird glow around her. Moaning Myrtle, the new Disco Star of Hogwarts made a pose in front of the two, surprisingly confident.

"I found my vocation!" she cried. "I ROCK!"

She danced. Gods, she danced. Waved her head around in front of her disbelieving audience. Did something with her feet and her hands. Moonwalked. Squeaked in joy. And a light appeared from above, encircling her.

"YES!" she cried. "YES! I'm done here! I'm going to live my life! I have everything I want! Everything I need!..."

And with that, she dissolved into light, leaving the two of them staring stunned into space. Severus spoke first.

"What the fuck?..."

Hermione started chuckling, with a slightly hysterical note to it.

"Big lipped alligator moment!" she cried. He turned his head to stare at her, as she shook with laughter. It was, apparently, her body's way of telling her that she had to cope with something and it didn't have no clue what to do about it.

"The entire world is completely insane," he muttered.

Hermione only laughed harder.

XXX

AN: Right. Here's the new chapter. I finally found the time and inspiration to take care of it. :D

Please review!


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